The Miracle of Merry Brandybuck
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: His aunt’s early labor pains, his uncle’s intense anxiety, and his own memories of family grief and healing stir in Frodo despair and hope as he awaits the birth of his cousin.


Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate. The only thing I own is the plot.

Author's Note: It has been ages since I wrote a hobbit-centered fic! Starring in this is Frodo, his Uncle Saradoc, and Aunt Esmeralda. Feedback is welcomed.

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The Miracle of Merry Brandybuck

Frodo fidgeted nervously in his seat. He glanced up as his Uncle Saradoc walked by before turning around a few seconds later, pacing; his face was full of anxiety, his hands clasped behind his back. Once in a while both hobbits would gaze at the closed door, listening, waiting desperately for any hint of what was transpiring inside. But it was eerily silent.

Frodo tried unsuccessfully to relax: his whole body was tense, and a deep, chilling, dreadful fear had settled in the pit of his stomach long ago – at Aunt Esmeralda's pain-filled cry. Four long yet short hours ago…

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It had happened at dinner.

Being Master and Mistress of Brandy Hall, Saradoc and Esmeralda were seated at the center of the table, joined by their other Brandybuck relatives. They were in the middle of the meal when Esmeralda had given a small shriek. She had tried to assure her husband and those close to her, aware of the commotion, that it was nothing. But she was panting slightly; her brow suddenly was covered with perspiration; and she wrapped her arms around her swollen belly, trembling. Worry and discomfort crept over her features. Then another cry, louder, escaped her lips, and she doubled over. Frodo, who sat a ways down and across the table from his uncle and aunt with some of his cousins, heard her cry out the second time – as did all at the table – and his gaze traveled to her in time to watch her face, filled with pain, turn deathly pale. She fell into Uncle Saradoc's outstretched arms. All at the table fell into an uproar. Frodo leapt from his seat, his face white with concern as he stared at his aunt. Saradoc cradled his wife, trying to comfort her; his eyes were filled with panic as Esmeralda's pain and cries intensified. Several hobbit women rose from their seats and rushed to Esmeralda, taking her from a reluctant Saradoc, asking questions and assuring her she would be all right, while supporting her as they led her away. Saradoc rushed after them, though he paused to tell Frodo to stay and finish his food. Frodo had not been able to eat a thing, his stomach being twisted into knots. His head had swum. _Not again, oh, please, no! No. Don't take her as well. Not again,_ he had begged.

The others who had remained at the table spoke to one another in whispers about what the trouble may be. Frodo, lost in thought, had not paid any attention.

"Maybe," said an older hobbit woman to those beside her, "it is the baby. It is not due foranother month."

Frodo's ears had perked up, and he strained to catch the rest.

"They have tried to have a child for so long," she sighed.

"She has suffered one miscarriage already. It was months before she had fully recovered. Both Esmeralda and Saradoc were devastated," another pointed out.

It had taken all of Frodo's self-control to calmly leave the table instead of leaping from his seat and dashing off. He had heard enough.

He had discovered a flock of hobbits waiting outside Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda's chambers, their whisperings a steady buzzing. Upon seeing the crowd gathered, Frodo was about to go to his own room, but a hobbit woman opened the door and spotted him. He was ushered inside and found Uncle Saradoc pacing back and forth before a door, looking far older than his forty-two years. Frodo had silently sat himself in an empty chair.

Speaking for the first time since ordering Frodo to finish his meal, Uncle Saradoc had confirmed his suspicions: the baby was coming early, _now_.

He had wiped at his forehead with his handkerchief, his face troubled. He said no more, could not bring himself to. Frodo's heart went out to Uncle Saradoc. Frodo was only fourteen, but he understood what was left unsaid. The baby might be stillborn. The early birth might be too much for Aunt Esmeralda. So much could go wrong – was already wrong…another tragedy could befall the Brandybucks, Uncle Saradoc, Frodo himself.

Frodo had lowered his head. His body shook slightly. He remembered the time he had been in this same position more than three years before – the waiting, not knowing what was happening, being helpless to do anything…

The first time Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda had been simply thrilled. They had not been able to have a child for several years, and the news that the Master of Buckland possibly would at last have an heir had been joyfully received by all.

Frodo had been happy for his aunt and uncle but had misgivings about the baby. (He had lived with them for the past two years; they provided him with a warm home and endless love and comfort. Though they could never replace his lost parents – in fact, they did not try to – Frodo had come to love Saradoc and Esmeralda deeply and had found a haven of comfort and healing.) He had wondered if he would no longer live with them since they would have a child of their own. He was fearful it might come to pass; yet he could not look on the expectant child with scorn. Indeed, he was delighted at the thought of having a new cousin. Yet that cloud of possibly being uncared for dampened his cheer.

Unable to endure the suspense any longer, he had one day bravely approached Esmeralda, who was doing a needlepoint in the parlor, and asked if he would not live with her and Uncle Saradoc once the baby arrived. Never would Frodo forget Esmeralda's reaction: she had gazed at him with a stunned expression on her face; it melted away so there was only love burning in her eyes as she watched him with an air of vulnerability. Then she had whispered, "Only if you wish it, dear Frodo." More was said, but those simple seven words, had filled him with an intense joy. After that, he was most excited to welcome the little cousin into the world.

Then the second tragedy of Frodo's young life had happened. It had been a hot summer day in August; he was fishing alone by the riverbank when a servant found him, breathless from running. Amidst the lad's wheezing and gasps, Frodo discerned enough to understand: something was wrong with Aunt Esmeralda. Never had he run so fast in his life. Within a few short minutes he had reached his uncle and aunt's chambers. He could not get anyone to tell him more of what was the matter. Hobbits were rushing all about. Frodo had crawled into a chair and made himself into a little ball, wrapping his arms around his legs, putting his head on his knees. He had shed many tears during those long hours, afraid Aunt Esmeralda was dying. Images had quickly flashed through his brain of the horrid day when he watched helplessly as his parents drowned before his eyes. It had been a while since the nightmares about his parents had stopped; but now they returned; only they surrounded Aunt Esmeralda this time. He had only been able to rock and sob uncontrollably until his energy was all spent and he fell into a light, exhausted slumber.

It was all over by evening; the rushing ended, weeping began, and a gloom fell over Brandy Hall. Frodo was aroused by the sensation of his curls being brushed softly, slowly, by a trembling hand; lifting his tear-stained face, he discovered Uncle Saradoc kneeling before him, crying. Aunt Esmeralda was alive, he reassured Frodo, but his cousin…had been lost. Uncle and nephew embraced, weeping many bittersweet tears; sweet at still having Esmeralda, bitter at the loss of the baby both had been so deeply anticipating.

It was seven long weeks before Aunt Esmeralda was out of danger of losing her own life, but it took far more months until she recovered from the miscarriage – physically and emotionally. Both Saradoc and Frodo had been terribly anxious about her during that time. In his own way, Frodo brought comfort and healing to his brokenhearted uncle and aunt, for they saw how blessed they were to have him in their lives and looked on him with a new joy. The experience drew the three of them closer together. However, none of them could ever forget the life they were denied of having.

In a way, it was even more heartbreaking for Saradoc and Esmeralda; she had been warned it might be too much for her if she tried to have another child. Sadly, they had heeded these words, for Saradoc was unwilling to risk losing his wife for a child and heir. That piece of news spread quickly to the other Brandybucks and drew a mixed reaction of sympathy and wondering over who would then be the next Master.

Then, this past spring, the unexpected had happened: Esmeralda was expecting once more. Saradoc and Frodo had been overjoyed at the news. Esmeralda was very careful concerning what she did and ate as the months crept by, for she did not want to endanger the baby. But it seemed that now fate would deal a tragic blow again. And now here Frodo was once more, waiting to find out if aunt and cousin would pull through.

---

Frodo frowned as he watched a pale Uncle Saradoc be ushered inside the door where Aunt Esmeralda was. Even when the door was shut, sounds of muffled voices and rustlings of hobbits moving about drifted to the young lad's hearing. Something was happening to cause such activity, for it had been silent before. His stomach twisted at the thought of the cause for the change. Unable to keep still, Frodo got up from the chair and started pacing. Aunt Esmeralda could not die; the baby could not die. He did not know how he would deal with losing someone else he loved.

Frodo froze, halted suddenly by a sound he heard through the door. It was faint because of the thick wood, but he instantly identified it: the wail of a baby. A baby! His knees threatening to buckle, Frodo stumbled to, and collapsed in, his chair. Tears started running down his face. He was caught between happiness and anxiety. He had a cousin! He dropped his head into his hands. What of Aunt Esmeralda? How was she? And would his little cousin be all right despite being born early?

He waited anxiously for any word, but only once a hobbit maid came out of the room to tell those waiting outside the chambers that Esmeralda had delivered a boy. A boy -- his baby cousin was a boy. Frodo felt a thrill at the bit of information. But the cloud of the unknown hung over him heavily still. It was unusually quiet as all waited to know the fate of the Mistress and little heir. Hours ticked by, then days, one…two…three…

Frodo did not leave his post in the chair outside Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda's room where he kept his vigil. As more time past without news, he fell more and more into despair. He hardly ate the meals that were brought to him and would fall into a light sleep on occasion, waking at the slightest noise. To his knowledge, Uncle Saradoc never ventured out, causing Frodo to fear the worse.

The fifth day dawned bright and lovely, with a chill in the wind and the golden leaves blowing off the trees – a glorious October morning. Frodo awoke with a jerk, certain something had awakened him, but he heard nothing. He tried to rub the heavy sleep from his tired eyes and yawned widely.

His head snapped up as the door opened to reveal Uncle Saradoc. Frodo jumped up at the sight of tears in the hobbit's eyes.

"Uncle…?" he whispered.

"Frodo," Saradoc said brokenly and held out his hand.

Frodo quickly took the offered hand, searching his uncle's face to discover a strange glow shone on his face. Saradoc led him into the room. Their attention centered on the large bed where three hobbit maids were gathered around. In the center lay Esmeralda, a faint color returning to her pale cheeks, her eyes shining at the two hobbits. Frodo quietly gasped and slowly approached the bed, staring disbelievingly at his aunt. For a long moment they simply gazed at each other.

"Dear Frodo," she whispered, a tiny smile touching her lips.

"Aunt Esmeralda," he answered. He then gazed at Uncle Saradoc with cautious hope.

"She…she shall be fine," Saradoc managed to say. "It will take time…"

Frodo turned back to his aunt, tears forming in his eyes. Before anyone could stop him, he carefully climbed onto the bed and laid a soft kiss on Esmeralda's forehead. He shared a smile with her before recognition came over him. He looked between his aunt and uncle with questioning, fearful eyes.

It was then he noticed a hobbit woman step forward, a small wrapped bundle in her arms, her face unreadable. Frodo's breath caught in his throat as he watched Uncle Saradoc take the bundle from the woman. His blood pounded in his ears, and his heart raced. Sweat started forming on his brow. He lowered his gaze. Uncle Saradoc sat himself on the bed and extended his arms for Frodo to see.

Frodo took several deep breaths and swallowed hard. Gathering what courage he had, slowly, he raised his eyes and peeked at the bundle in his uncle's arms. A tiny face poked out of the blanket wrapped around his body. A little patch of golden-brown hair was on his head; he had plump cheeks and tiny freckles on his nose. He was still, eyes closed. Was he sleeping, or…?

Frodo nearly jumped in surprise as the little body shifted, one balled fist found its way out from under the blanket, and the tiny mouth opened in a yawn. Frodo's uncertainty gave way to amazement as the baby turned his head slightly and slowly blinked his eyes once, twice.

Frodo gaped in wonder at this miracle. Frantically, he met Uncle Saradoc's eyes, needing to know if this little one, so beautiful, so precious, would make it. Uncle Saradoc's teary smile was answer enough. In a moment all the past dreads and fears and stress of the last few days fell from Frodo's shoulders.

With newly dawning joy and awe, Frodo carefully accepted his baby cousin into his arms from his uncle. For the longest time he simply drank in the little one's face. Just when he knew nothing would ever be the same, once again small green eyes opened and met Frodo's blue ones. Then a smile spread across the baby's face, and a sweet laugh escaped his throat.

Frodo laughed happily in return. He then grinned at his proud uncle and aunt. "He has a merry laugh," he commented.

Saradoc and Esmeralda gazed at each other in silent agreement.

"Merry," Esmeralda breathed, trying out the word with a delightful smile.

"We named him Meriadoc," Saradoc said, "but perhaps Merry is a more fitting name."

Frodo pondered it over. "Meriadoc is a magnificent name," he agreed, "yet to me I think he shall always be Merry."

"Merry, he is a miracle that has brought us great joy after hard times," Esmeralda mused.

"Aye," Saradoc said softly.

Frodo gently rocked his cousin and smiled contentedly. The sun was shining again. "Hello, Merry," his whispered to the baby sweetly. "I'm your cousin Frodo."

THE END


End file.
